New Eden: Live to Play, Play to Live

Outside New Eden, in Washington DC, USA, someone else was having a similar get-together with someone they didn't want to see.

Sitting at a dinner table in a lavishly decorated living room with plates of bright white ceramic and golden cutlery, Damien Grimm was pushing around a piece of steak on his plate.

Three seats to his right, at the end of the table, a slender older man was eating his steak in silence, not even looking at the young man.

"Dad, I—" Damien started saying

"Ahem," the older man cleared his throat.

"But I—"

"Don't make me repeat myself, son. Eat. We can talk after dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Damien grumbled.

"I don't care. Eat. You are spending so much time in your stupid game that you barely eat solid food anymore. It's probably what has gotten you so weak-minded. Eat, boy."

Damien ground his teeth together, forcibly putting the food in his mouth, although his stomach turned at the thought of swallowing the meat. His appetite had been gone for a while now.

Ever since that dreaded whore of a Pyromancer had stolen his guild.

The thought alone of her face made his heart race with anger. His fists clenched on the utensils as he reluctantly chewed the food in his mouth.

The meal went on, the father eating like a distinguished gentleman while the son stabbed the food with his utensils and chewed aggressively.

Once the meal was done, a butler came in and emptied the table, leaving only the cup of wine before both of them.

"You haven't taken a sip of the wine. At least taste it. Or have your taste buds gone to shit as much as your personality?"

"Tch. That's cheap wine. You serve it to me like it's the best Pinot Noir in town. Old man, I think your taste buds are the ones going to shit," Damien retorted, pushing the cup away.

"You insolent maggot. Do you think that because the price isn't as high as that expensive crap you buy, it's cheap wine? You really inherited that stupid attitude from your mother, haven't you?" the father replied with disdain dripping off his words.

Damien's jaw clenched.

"If you hated her so much, why did you keep me? You could have made this go away at any point, right, 'Mr. Senator.'" Damien spat, giving a hate-filled look to his genitor.

"You think I wanted you? Don't delude yourself, son. If your mother hadn't threatened to tell the public what she did for a living, I wouldn't have given her the time of day. Better yet, I should have checked that damned condom she put on my cock, and I would have dodged a bullet."

"If you hate me so much, why don't you just disinherit me already?!" Damien shouted, slamming his fists on the table.

"Don't shout at me, you son of a whore! You think I wouldn't have if I wanted?! Your mother made my life a living minefield the day she told me she was pregnant, and you just made things worse!

"I only kept you around because you showed promise! And now even that is gone! You worthless son of mine! How did you lose everything I carefully built for you?! Do you have any idea how many favours I pulled to get you those sponsors?! No one wants to work with you in the industry, you little devilish son of a bitch!" his father snapped.

Damien had never in his life wanted to kill him more than now. But the four men at the edges of the room dissuaded him from taking action, their loaded guns evident under their jackets.

"Why did you call me here, Dad? I don't want to see you any more than you do. Tell me what you want so I can return to New York." Damien spat, trying to calm down.

"That's why I called you. You're not going back to New York. Starting tonight, you live here, where I can keep an eye on you, and you're starting therapy tomorrow. I've had enough of cleaning up messes behind you."

"What?! You can't do this to me! I refuse to live anywhere near you! New York was already too close for my tastes! If you had let me, I would have moved to the west coast!" Damien shouted, jumping up from his seat.

The four men jumped forward, their hands slipping into their jackets, as Damien's father blew a fuse.

"SIT THE FUCK DOWN, BOY!"

Damien glared at him defiantly, but obeyed the order. His father would have no scruples asking the four bodyguards to whoop his ass.

Even though he was sure he could take them on, he would rather not go through the trouble that came after.

It was hard to go against a senator, especially one running for president. And that was who was sitting at that table with him.

Although he called him father, Damien felt no love for his genitor—only hatred and detachment.

Taking a deep breath and replacing his tie, his father rose from the table.

"I've already made arrangements. Your stuff is flying in tomorrow, and I fired your attendant. He looked almost pleased when I told him he wasn't needed anymore. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to stay with an insufferable little shit like you, either.

"But until you've attended therapy and returned to a more socially acceptable attitude, you will live in the guest house. And if you try to leave without telling me, I will have you hunted down like the rabid dog that you are. Understood?"

Damien looked at him, his eyes filling with tears of rage.

"I wish she had killed you all those years back. That knife should have gone into your throat, not your shoulder. The world would be a better place," Damien seethed, looking at his father.

The old man snapped again, this time blowing off the handle completely.

Jumping over the table, he started wailing at his son like he was beating a peasant in a back alley. He only let go when Damien was limp in his grasp.

"You never talk to me in that tone again, you son of a whore. I will have you disappear faster than your mother. Understood?" his father said between clenched teeth.

Damien smiled at him before spitting a mouthful of blood into his face.

"Fuck you…"

That night ended badly for him, and the nurses at the ER were told he was attacked in a dark park when taking a walk. Mugged and beaten for his money.

No one would ever know the truth except the people in that room.

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